Sherlock's Tiny Trick
by freezingsummerbreeze
Summary: Mycroft is asked to come to Sherlock's school to discuss a "serious matter," and it turns out Sherlock has a few tricks up his sleeve.  much better than it sounds.


Sherlock's Tiny Trick.

Mycroft held his little brother's hand as they walked through the halls of Sherlock's primary school. Everything was quiet except for their echoing footsteps; school had been let out an hour ago.

Turning the corner, Sherlock attempted to yank his hand out of his brother's but Mycroft held fast, his face a cross between irritated and amused, and yanked his brother to a stop in front of Sherlock's classroom.

"Sherlock, please tell me what you did before I go in there. I would prefer to address the problem head-on instead of blundering about like a dunderhead."

Sherlock smiled as though that would be the most amusing thing in the world.

"Sherlock, tell me now or I shall tell everyone in there that you wet your bed."

"No!" Sherlock replied, with the meanest look he could conjure on his tiny face.

Mycroft sighed. His brother was, by far, the most stubborn six year old in all of England.

Bracing himself for what was to come, Mycroft opened the door and walked inside, towing a reluctant Sherlock behind.

Astonishingly enough however, Sherlock's manner changed the instant he walked through the door. Enraged posture became awkward, furious face became soft, and angry eyes became large and innocent.

Before Mycroft could figure out what Sherlock was doing, Sherlock had wretched his hand out of Mycroft's, held up his hands toward his young, blonde teacher and said, "I wa bi-kit an appa juice."

With that innocent expression and underdeveloped speech pattern, Mycroft knew _exactly _what his brother was doing, he couldn't help but laugh.

The blonde woman stared at him rudely and handed Sherlock two biscuits.

"We don't have any apple juice little guy, so I brought you _two _biscuits. Is that okay?"

Sherlock nodded shyly, ran over to where Mycroft was sitting, gave Mycroft a biscuit and sat down at his feet, gnawing at his own biscuit.

To anyone else's eyes Sherlock looked content, Mycroft knew different.

"Where's your mother and father Mycroft?" the principle of Sherlock's school, an old, gray-haired lady asked.

"Father's on a business trip and mother's gone to haggle a price with Sherlock's new violin instructor, but she said that you can talk to me about whatever it is you need."

The teachers shared uncertain looks but the principle went ahead.

"We feel that Sherlock might be different. Not different in a bad way, just in a way that we feel our teachers are to inexperienced to handle. What I suggest is that Sherlock go to a different school, one for special kids, like him."

Mycroft laughed out loud.

"Are you suggesting that my brother is retarded?"

What ever reaction she was expecting, it was certainly not that.

"Mycroft Holmes! How dare you laugh at something this serious! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft shrugged his shoulders in what looked like defeat and then let out an overly-dramatic sigh. Then he surprised everyone and turned toward Sherlock instead of the teachers.

"Okay Sherlock, you win; but I suppose since you're to stupid to even go to _regular _primary school, you're not smart enough to play with your science experiments."

In an instant the overly childish attitude was gone, replaced by an expression of terror.

"NO! Mycroft, NO! You _can't _take them away! I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva in a dead calico cat, and I'm judging the behavior of Mrs. Robinson's bulldog after giving it regular injections of anti-depressants! You simply _can't _take them away! It's in the name of _science_!"

The room went completely silent, and both of the teacher's mouth's were hanging open. They had never heard Sherlock speak more than two coherent words at a time, much less rant using words that the fifth graders would have had trouble with.

Sherlock looked around at everyone, and, knowing that he had blown his cover, uttered a word no six-year-old should know.

Mycroft chuckled. "Three things, Sherlock. First, you know Mummy doesn't approve of swearing. Second, you are never to go near Mrs. Robinson's poor dog again. And third, you need to apologize to these people for pretending to be mentally challenged."

"Why should I?" Sherlock replied stubbornly.

"Because if you don't I shall take away your lock-picking kit."

Scrunching his nose in a rather unpleasant manner, Sherlock turned toward the two teachers and spat out: "I am terribly sorry if my actions have offended you in anyway."

Mycroft nodded in approval and stood up, grasping Sherlock by the shoulder. Then he said, in his most important voice, "Thank you for meeting with me, I hope we resolved any problems you may have had."

"Yes," the blonde teacher said absentmindedly, "But Sherlock, why on earth would you do such a thing?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, as though it was obvious, "The other children."

Mycroft's brow furrowed in worry. "They weren't making fun of you, were they?"

"Only a select few, but that is always to be expected. The biggest problem was the friendly ones!"

Mycroft, who had always been a social, popular boy, was insanely frustrated at his brother's anti-social personality. "What on earth could be the problem with the friendly ones?" he questioned.

"They always wanted to converse with me! I simply cannot stand to be around those brain-dead hooligans. I can feel my brain cells dieing in response to their lacking intellect."

The women looked astonished again and the teacher blinked a few times. Breaking the silence before the teacher could find her words, the principle clapped her hands together and shakily smiled. "Well, I still think we should move Sherlock, but now, perhaps, he should be moved up with the older children. I shall have an appraisal test sent to Sherlock during lunch on Monday, so have him bring his own then. I… I think that concludes our meeting. Please tell your mother of all we have spoken Mycroft."

She turned toward Sherlock then, and sent him a stern look. "You don't _have _to talk to the other children, but you must be polite when you do, you must volunteer information when questions are posed, and, for god's sake, do _not _put on that ridiculous act again; there _are _mentally challenged children and it is a _very _serious subject. I hope you are properly ashamed of yourself. Your punishment shall be helping the janitor clean for two hours after every school day for a month. And don't worry Sherlock, the janitor will most assuredly be informed of your acting skills."

If looks could kill, the principle would have been chopped up into bits and Mycroft's laughter would have turned to screams. But Sherlock's looks did not kill anyone, and he was dragged out of the school by a still chuckling Mycroft and was grounded by his mother (which Sherlock felt he didn't deserve, seeing as Mrs. Holmes was laughing as she did it).

To this day, Sherlock still remembers that moment in the classroom as the best in his life; because being found out led to being bumped up to the fifth grade. Fifth grade's first field trip was to a swimming match where little Kyle Powers died, and Sherlock Holmes decided to be the greatest (and only) consulting detective of all time.

John always wondered why that particular memory still roamed in Sherlock's brain, when he didn't even remember that the earth went around the sun, but Sherlock believes that that woman (who's name he can't even remember) changed his life when she looked over her principle's desk, glasses perched on the end of her nose, and told him something that he could never forget. She said that even if people want him to be something different, or he wanted to be something else because of other people, that he should never change.

And even though many different people told him many different things in many different places, the only thing he ever took to heart was two words from his grade school principle: "Be yourself."

**Authors note:**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing*wink wink*. Unfortunately, baby Sherlock and teenage Mycroft are not mine but I had a fun time playing with them. ;) I got the idea for this story after reading a few fics that depicted child!Sherlock as developmentally challenged and though I think those fics are lovely, I wondered if he really was, or was just pretending to get idiots out of his face. So, after floating around in my head for a couple of months and giving me a severe case of writer's block, this fic was brought to you. Hope you enjoyed it!**

**P.S. I know the ending is kind of corny, but that was the only end that sat right with me. **


End file.
